


The Art of Courtship

by Lady_Eglantine



Series: Ellana Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Eglantine/pseuds/Lady_Eglantine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall surprises the Inquisitor with flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> This was totally inspired by Josephine receiving flowers from Blackwall when neither of them are romanced by the Inquisitor. I figured if Blackwall sends flowers to someone whom he likes, but can never likely be with (by both their admissions, which is so sad), it would only make sense this should happen with an Inquisitor who romances him :)

-1-

The burst of sunlight popping over the mountain ridge and through the slot of Ellana's curtains rudely awoke her from her sorely needed slumber. She groaned as the light hit her, turning so it would not strike her directly in the face. She usually was not so reluctant to get up; she was a creature of the morning who thrived on the tranquility it offered.

But the day before had been a long one. A day filled with going over supplies for potions and tonics and inspecting troops in the morning; having to play the role of ultimate mediator between bickering Ferelden nobles for the rest of said morning and afternoon; finishing with reading reports and mulling over war table operations (one of which was deciding how to delicately deal with a Venatori mage who had King Markus of Nevarra under his thrall) with her advisors into the night. She was forced to call a recess for the next morning when she had begun re-reading the same line of Leliana's report over and over, not realizing it until the sixth time through. She would not commit to an option recklessly all because she had made a decision in a daze.

She lay in bed for a few moments before reluctantly heaving herself off, groggily wandering to her wash basin in the alcove behind her bed. She splashed the cold water against her face, usually a sure-fire means of waking her. She took a quick glance at herself as the ripples of the water calmed, no longer distorting her face, to reveal her full reflection staring back at her. The reflection of Ellana Lavellan. Not the Inquisitor, the Herald, or even the Keeper's First. Just plain Ellana Lavellan, who was likely in way over her head.

What had inspired Cassandra (any of them, really) to think she had the power or ability to intervene in the affairs of realms, of its people? Lead a coalition and style herself the Herald of a holy figure she did not worship or an Inquisitor in the name of defeating evil and restoring order to the world? She supposed she could have refused it all, caught a ship back to the Free Marches to rejoin her clan, but ever since she had woken up in shackles with that mark flaring on her hand, she had known she was in too deep to turn away. Nor could she just blindly ignore the plight of all those in dire need of help.

Creators, she had to stop thinking about this (or really just thinking all together), at least for another hour. But judging by the position of the sun, she didn't have even that long.

With a resigned sigh, she threw on what Sera liked to call her "pajama wares," not needing to look her best until she met with yet another group of bickering nobles later, this time from Orlais (on Vivienne's recommendation).

She went over to her desk, reaching for the brush she had left lying there the morning before. She was hardly close to one of those noblewomen who spent hours in front of a mirror prepping themselves every morning, but she could never stand her hair sticking up every which way.

While at her desk, she searched through the drawer she used to keep some of her spare herbs, seeing if there was any of that bark left that helped with headaches (if yesterday had been any indication, she might have need of it), but she was tapped out. She needed to remember to add that to the list of requisition requests for Leliana's scouts. Or just remember to retrieve some herself. They'd be heading out in a few days to go to Crestwood, find Hawke's Grey Warden contact. Even so, still never hurt to have spares.

Satisfied with her hair, she made her way down the echoing stone steps. She paused at the door, hand pressed against the solid wood as if trying to draw strength from the door itself. Steeling herself for yet another long day, she pulled on the door latch.

Only to open right to a vase filled to the top with flowers.

She stood staring at the flowers as if they were some foreign object. These certainly had not been there the night before. Even with how exhausted she had been, she would have noticed a vase of flowers at her doorstep. Someone must have come and put them there while she was still asleep.

She reached out her hand to pull one of the flowers out, a mountain flower that appeared to only be native to the area above Skyhold. It didn't squirt water into her face the moment she touched it so it was clearly not one of Sera's pranks (though they thankfully weren’t usually directed at her).

Ellana held it up to her nose, picking up the distinctive sweet scent. Her finger traced its white top down to the patch of yellow bumping up against the fair bit of green that protruded from the top of the stem. She had gathered some of these once before, but she hadn't been back to that spot lately (she was lucky enough to grab time in the garden the past couple of days, let alone a mountain hike). She knew Josephine had been hinting at wanting to liven up the place, but she had understood it to be in areas where others could see, not the stairway to her private living quarters. These were clearly meant for her alone, almost like a gift...

A slow smile made its way onto her face as it dawned on her who could have possibly left them, the only one who would have a reason to. This knowledge spurred her forward, taking the steps two at a time down to the main hall.

Even though it was hardly the break of dawn, only a handful of people could be found milling about the hall (not even Varric was in his usual spot). If they saw her with that smile and flower clutched tightly in hand, she did not notice, her sole focus on heading not towards the war room but the open hall doors into the morning light.

She thought he might be working on the griffon rocker, as she had seen him do before when she came to visit him, but as she entered the barn, she did not see him by the workbench. Nor did she spot him over by the stable.

Her ears then perked up at a faint noise she hadn't heard upon her arrival, right above her. She looked up at the loft area above the barn, but couldn't see anything from the angle she was standing. "Blackwall?"

The immediate rustling upon her call and reply of "I'm up here" confirmed her initial suspicions.

As she climbed the stairs to the loft, she found him at the loft’s opposite end, furiously gathering up parchment off the floor and shoving it underneath the animal furs spread over the square hay bale behind him.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no, it's nothing. It's, um...just jotting some things down on-on the, um, parchment." He cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting you this...thought you'd be busy this morning."

While she was curious as to what could have him so uncharacteristically (and admittedly, endearingly) flustered, she let it go in favor of the more pressing matter at hand.

"I was off to a meeting. Until I found a vase of these at my door." She held up the flower to the sunlight, showing it to him as if he had never seen it before. "I thought I'd come and show my appreciation to the person who left them."

His gaze fell away from hers, staring intently at the flower in her hand. He didn’t say anything right away, making her start to wonder if she had been right on the identity of the flowers’ sender, that her jump to Blackwall had just been an assumption.

Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "I found some growing along the path I was walking this morning. Remembered you said you liked them."

A warm feeling spread throughout her at having been right, at the thought of him remembering such a tiny thing. Then it struck her he did not say why he had been on the path in the first place, that it had just been a casual stroll. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the possible answer, that he had…

She stepped closer to him. "Did you go up there just to get these for me?" she asked softly, her voice practically a whisper.

"I wanted to, my lady." Tenderness swirled in his eyes. "I know yesterday was hard on you and I hoped to brighten this one. Even if just for a moment."

He said it like it wasn't a second thought, as if it wasn't a big deal for him to go to that mountain slope and bring her flowers. But it was. More than she could put into words.

She instantly closed the remaining distance between them, bodies flush against the other. She curled her free arm around his waist and nestled her head against the padding of his shoulder near the side of his neck, inhaling his familiar, comforting smell of leather, wood shavings and the stable. "Thank you, Blackwall."

His arms instantly came around her, fingers pressing gently into the curve of her spine, a brief kiss planted on the top of her head. "You're welcome, Ana."

Her smile grew impossibly wider against his fabric at his nickname for her. It wasn't as if others hadn't used a nickname for her (Dorian had called her Ellie in a moment of teasing). But this felt different. Almost like it further cemented their relationship.

She now wished Blackwall would tell her his given name. Now that they were together (a part of her still couldn’t believe they finally were), it was strange to be calling him only by his surname. But he had yet to offer it or express a desire to be called anything other than Blackwall. She would not force it out of him, though. It would have to come from him, no matter how much she wanted to ask. She had learned long ago the fruitfulness of patience towards others.

She shifted her head, neck starting to protest at the angle it was at, when she caught sight of the furrow of his brow, which usually meant he was seriously concentrating on or contemplating something. "What is it?" she asked, pulling away slightly so she could fully take him in.

"You seem somewhat surprised I did this."

Was she that easy to read? How could she possibly begin to explain? This type of thing didn't happen to her. Before him, she had thought she didn't want it to. Only now could she see how wrong she had been.

"I'm just not used to this," she said. Better than saying no one had ever been interested enough in her to bring her gifts (not that she hadn’t already told him that before).

"To be honest, I haven't had much experience with this either," he confessed. "A life of a Grey Warden doesn't leave much time or thought for such things."

That had her tilting her head questioningly. "You weren't always a Grey Warden," she pointed out.

"It was different, then. It wasn't..." His voice broke away, regaining it a moment later. "It wasn't like this. You're the first woman I ever truly..."

Ellana's breath caught in her throat, waiting for him to finish, what he would say, suddenly feeling a rush of light-headedness at where this conversation was going. Instead, he took the flower from her hand and retrieved the blade using for wood carving, cutting away at the stem. He then delicately worked the flower through her hair.

Once satisfied with the position of having it tucked in the space between her head and pointed ear, he pulled his hand away, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek as he did so. "I want to be good to you, Ana. Worthy of you."

There was that voice again. The voice from the ramparts, the Storm Coast, from that night in her quarters more than a fortnight ago, from too many occasions to count which spoke of worthlessness, of a deep-seated self-loathing. The voice that always pained her to hear. Leaving her yet again wondering what had happened that caused him to see himself in such a light when, from what she saw, it was far from deserved.

And with it came that little voice of her own. Always ready with a reminder. A reminder of her sister, what sweet promises of another had led to, the sinister lies they had concealed.

But she quickly shut the voice down as she had so many times before since she had accepted her feelings towards Blackwall were more than those towards a friend. This wasn't the same. Despite his reluctance to share much about his past, despite not knowing the reason behind that voice of his or his given name, one thing she could be sure of was the only thing that mattered: Blackwall's feelings towards her were genuine. That had been more than clear from the start (even when he had attempted to push her away).

She stood on her toes to press her forehead against his. "You are, vhenan. You are."

More than good, more than worthy. Better than she could have ever imagined.

She would have been content to stay like this longer if the rumble of her stomach hadn't killed the mood, reminding her of her hastily scarfed down dinner more than thirteen hours ago and the fact she still had a whole day's worth of work ahead of her, starting with a certain meeting.

"Suppose that means I have to go," she said with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Will I see you at supper tonight?" he asked, running his thumb along the part of her Sylaise vallasin design that extended onto her cheekbone.

"I hope so. Unless I can't get away from the Orlesian nobles. I might have you come rescue me."

Blackwall let out a soft chuckle. "Sera might be more well-equipped for that."

"I'd prefer not to cause a diplomatic incident." She gave a slight smirk. "At least not this time."

She leaned up to lay a soft kiss on his lips in goodbye. He eagerly responded, cupping her cheek. She took a moment to revel in the kiss, then reluctantly pulled away to head out of the loft, before the temptation to shirk her duties in favor of staying with him all day became too great.

* * *

One pastry retrieval from the kitchens and devouring of said pastry later, she found herself walking down to the hallway to the war room, wiping the stickiness from her fingers on the kerchief she kept in her pocket. Josephine and Leliana were already there, waiting for her, but Cullen had still not arrived. From the conversation she was hearing as she slipped in through the partly opened door, they were hardly talking about anything related to helping the mages in Hasmal.

"My scouts saw him head up to the mountains and come back with a handful of flowers. Then I saw him go to the Inquisitor's rooms with them."

Josephine bounced on her heel in barely restrained excitement. "I knew it. Have you seen the way the two look at each other when they think no one's looking?"

"How could you not?" Leliana was completely turned away from her, so she could not see her expression. "Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden were like that. The Inquisitor even has the same glow on her face as the Hero of Ferelden did."

"It's good to see on her. Out of all of us, Maker knows..." Josephine's eyes widened as she caught view of Ellana standing near the door. She spun herself forward to face Ellana straight on, the candle on her clipboard nearly falling off at the quickness of the movement.

"Inquisitor! We didn't hear you come in! We-we were just…” Unsuccessfully searching for words and looking like a child caught with her hand in the sweets jar, Josephine turned to Leliana, appearing as if she were silently asking for help on what to say. Able to negotiate and wield flattery and favors out of a paper bag yet being caught gossiping about their leader had robbed Josephine of speech.

Ellana’s gaze fell on Leliana, who did not appear to be as flustered as Josephine. Not that Ellana was surprised. Not much seemed to faze her.

"I did not think those flowers suitable for accessory. You wear it well, Inquisitor," Leliana observed with a hint of teasing.

Ellana reached up towards her ear. The flower was indeed still there (that explained the look she had gotten from the cook). Normally she would have been flushing red right now (just as Josephine was starting to), the blush spreading across her cheeks at a rapid rate. But now...

She found herself not caring. Not one bit.

Let Leliana and Josephine see. Let them all see. Let them see how lucky she was to have someone like Blackwall, to make her life surrounded in all this darkness a brighter one.

She smiled at the pair. "I think so too.”

They did not speak further on the subject, gathering around the table which displayed their marker-filled map. She asked Josephine (whose face still had a reddish tint) to hand her the message from Knight-Commander Brycen and the reports regarding the situation in Hasmal to review while they waited for Cullen. But she found her thoughts drifting back to the barn as she tried to read them over, the way Blackwall had gently cupped her cheek, proclaimed his desire to be worthy of her…

The creak of the door snapped her back, Cullen entering the room and apologizing profusely for being late. As he took his place to the side of the table, he was in perfect view of the flower adorning Ellana's head. When he asked about it, she said it was a gift, but not from whom. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leliana and Josephine give knowing glances to each other. Cullen seemed to notice, sending all three of them baffled looks, but said nothing more about it, even though he clearly had no clue who had given it to her.

If the resident gossip-mongers at Skyhold did their job, he'd find out soon enough.


End file.
